


Something Else

by Blink23



Category: Football RPF
Genre: Coming Out, Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-14
Updated: 2014-04-15
Packaged: 2018-01-19 10:18:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1465741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Blink23/pseuds/Blink23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Alvaro and his boyfriend are outed, all Gonzalo can do is feel helpless.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just incase anyone's confused, this is something I wrote for the Kink Meme the beginning of last year, hence the inclusion of José, Pipita, and other players that aren't around anymore showing up later.

When Gonzalo enters the locker room, Morata is sitting in front of Mou's office, his knees pulled up to his chest and hunched down like he's trying to hide himself. Pipa's early for practice for once in his life and had intended to get dressed and warmed up before everyone else arrived, but he abandons his things by his locker to see what's wrong.

“Hey kid,” He says, nudging him as he sits down, “What's wrong with you?”

“You haven't seen yet?” 

When Gonzalo shakes his head he thrusts his phone into his hands before going back to crying into his knees.

Pipa frowns as he looks. It's the digital version of of one of those cheap tabloids, and there are pictures of Álvaro and some blond sitting on the balcony of what he assumes is Morata's apartment. Pipa spares a moment to think that the guy's pretty cute before it hits him what exactly is going on.

One of Álvaro laying with his head in his lap, seemingly asleep, as the guy reads a book. One of them sitting up with their foreheads together. One of them kissing, the guy's hand up Álvaro's shirt, rubbing his side. Another where they've pulled apart, but the guys hand is on the inside of his thigh, and he's smiling one of those 'I'm totally in love with you and can't look away' smiles. 

The last one is the worst, and makes Pipita cringe when he sees it.

Someone took it through the balcony doors to the bedroom and the quality terrible but it's still clear enough to see it's Álvaro, naked, his head thrown back as he rides the guy. There's no way you can miss that they're having sex. 

“Fuck.”

Morata whimpers in agreement. “There are more, too, in the other magazines. Someone camped out to take pictures of us all day and night into the next morning.”

“This is your boyfriend?”

He nods, “Pablo, he's – fuck - He's probably so mad at me, most of his family doesn't know he's gay yet, and- and he's in class right now so I can't even call him-”

Mourinho steps out of his office then, looking at the both of them. Morata shrinks down even smaller, letting out another sob.

“Come on. You too, Pipa, it'll be easier to tell you and then have you relay it to the team so I don't have to make some big awkward announcement.”

They both shuffle into José's office and take seats in the chairs in front of his desk, and Pipita can't help but feel like a schoolboy that's been hauled into the office for going along with his friend's stupid ideas.

Mou sits at the edge of his desk in front of them, not giving Morata time to squirm before he speaks.

“Do you love him?”

Álvaro looks shocked, like he doesn't know how to respond. “I- um-”

“Morata, it's an easy question. Do you love him? This wasn't just some one night stand, I'm guessing. You don't seem the type.”

“I- Yes,” He swallows the lump in his throat, “Yes, I do.”

“You've been together for awhile, no?”

“Yeah, He-he's the only one, I've, um-”

José makes a face, “I don't need to know the details of _that_ , kid. Just... you've been at it for awhile? He isn't someone planted by the media to do this? They've done things like this before.”

“Oh,” He blushes, and Gonzalo can help but reach other and squeeze his shoulder in support, “No. I've never been with another boy since I realized I'm... and we've been together since I was around 16. I've known him all my life.”

“Good.” Mou nods, before standing, “You're starting tomorrow.”

“What?” Álvaro looks completely stunned, “No, I can't-”

“You're starting tomorrow.” José says firmly, leaving no room for discussion.

“It's el clasico.” He tries.

Mou shrugs, “And that makes this different how?”

“But shouldn't you start some who's-”

“Who's what? Better?” José laughs, “We're 12 points behind them. We're not going to win Liga. Even if you're terrible it won't matter.”

“I can't.”

“You can,” Mou grips his face in his hands, “And I expect you to go out with the rest, head held high, and show everyone that this makes no difference in who you are. You will play your 90 minutes, and if you don't, I'll sell you off to to first team that shows interest, even if it's the Danish third division. Understood?”

Morata nods, and José lets go of his face and turns to Pipita.

“You make sure everyone knows that we as a team and as a club stand behind him, 100 percent, and if they don't feel the same then they can gladly leave this club.”

Pipita nods, not sure what else he can do.

“Good,” José shoots them a smile before rounding his desk and sitting behind it, “Now go get ready and warmed up for practice.”

 

When Pipita relays Mou's message everyone looks a him like he's nuts for even thinking they wouldn't be okay with Alavro having a boyfriend.

Mou rides Morata like he does everyone else, complains about how sloppy they've gotten at defending set pieces and yells whenever their forewards miss sitters when they play five a side matches. It's a completely normal training, and Gonzalo almost forgets about what is happening to him right now. 

Álvaro apparently has forgotten too, because when he finally gets ahold of his boyfriend afterwards he bursts into tears at what he he tells him. It takes him close to half an hour to calm down enough to explain that Pablo found out about what had happened in front of a full class of students by his TA who hates him, who did it by cracking a joke about how he sucks Álvaro cock. The pictures have been released everywhere, from Spain to Japan to South Africa to Brazil, all of them online uncensored. There's a video that's surfaced of them in bed the morning after, eating breakfast and sharing kisses, the both of them wandering around naked together like it's no big deal. Supposedly the guy who shot it all is also shopping around the tape of them actually having sex the night before. 

He's such a mess that Iker ends up agreeing to take him home, since there's no way he could drive.

Pipita, Iker and Álvaro are the last the leave and before he does he pulls him into a hug and kisses the side of his head, telling him things will be okay. Álvaro just sort of sags against him, clearly exhausted, and thanks him.

His mother asks him a million questions once he gets home. He explains what he knows and her face grows more and more upset. His father pulls him aside after dinner and asks how the boy really is, his face grim. Unlike his mother, he tells him the truth: He doesn't know.

Eze texts him later, asking if the kid's okay, if he's okay, and he doesn't know how to respond. Instead he says 'I think so' and 'I miss you' and shuts his phone off so he can get ready for bed.


	2. Chapter 2

The match is a mess.

The crowd boos the minute Álvaro steps on the pitch. He refuses to look anywhere but ahead, his jaw clenched, but Pipita can feel his uneasiness, even from the bench.

They let two in within the first 15 minutes of the match. The pitch is soaking wet and it seems impossible to keep possession without falling over but Barcelona are somehow doing it, out running them and making them frustrated. Sergio does manage to get them a goal in the 21st minute, but it's the result of Victor slipping in the mud and it doesn't feel like something worth celebrating. 

Pepe gets a red card in the 37th minute after Cesc dives. Gonzalo wishes he was surprised.

The second half his the same possession game for Barcelona as the first is. Cris gets a free kick and Mesut gets another goal after it bounces off the crossbar and to his feet. Barcelona becomes frantic, trying to get that goal to put them back in the lead, and the defense doesn't seem to want to hold but somehow Iker manages to stop everything they throw at him.

Then in the first minute of added time, Cris lets in this perfect, perfect cross in the box, and Morata gets on the end of it. Valdes' hand comes up but he can only get a few fingers on it before it's in the back of the net.

Everyone boos.

They don't cheer over the fact that they just scored against Barcelona, that it was one of their homegrown boys that's done it, that in the dying moments of the game he's won it for them, they boo and whistle because the one that shot it currently has his boyfriend in the team's luxury box instead of his girlfriend.

Gonzalo always thought their fans would be better than this.

Mesut, who's sitting next to him after being subbed, swears loudly, his fists clenched. Sergio looks like he wants to murder everyone, and Raul and Álvaro are holding Morata in between them as if they're trying to protect him, whispering things in his ears. When the ref blows the whistle a few seconds later Cristiano walks off the pitch with his middle finger raised high at the supporters who were booing the loudest. Even the Barcelona guys look pissed, coaching staff included, and Tito comes forward to hug a dejected looking Morata and speak to him as he's walking down the tunnel. 

“I can't believe it,” Leo says to him as they walk off the pitch, “I can't believe they would turn on him like that.”

“It can't be because Victor let him get that goal could it?” Iniesta asks from behind them, “I could barely tell and I was right there.”

“You let him have that goal?” Iker asks, looking shocked.

“I wasn't going to,” Valdes admits, clearly embarrassed, “but Ronaldo passed to the kid and I though why not? I mean, it's not like it matters anyway. We're too far ahead of you to lose Liga. So what if you win this match? This is kinda more important.”

Iker just looks at him like he wants to hug him and never let him go.

“Hey,” Puyol grabs Sergio's elbow, stopping him, “You tell him that we're proud of him, okay? Even though he scored against us and all that. It takes a lot of fucking guts not to just roll over and hide.”

“We're all proud to have him playing for Spain too,” Andres pipes up, “And we can't wait to play with him once he's called up. Make sure he knows that we're fine with him and all of this, will you?” 

Sergio nods and is responding as Pipita pushes his way into the dressing room.

The room is in chaos. Everyone is talking on top of each other or gone completely silent and Morata's in the middle of them, white as a sheet and holding the bench in a death grip, his eyes unfocused. After a few minutes Nacho comes rushing into the locker room, blond guy in tow. It's not until Pipa gets a good look at him that he realizes he's the same kid from the pictures.

He drops to his knees in front of Álavro and turns his face with his hands so he's looking at him. The kid has an immediate effect on him, his face crumbling as he begins to hyperventilate.

“Look at me, okay? It's fine, Alvie, You just need to calm down.” 

“I can't - they – I –” He's gasping for breath after every word, shaking.

“Shh, it's okay, everything's fine,” He pulls Morata close, running his fingers through his hair as he sobs against his chest, “Shh, just breathe, okay? Come on Nene, in and out, it's okay, I've got you, I'm not going anywhere...”

“Pablo-”

“I'm so proud of you for today, do you know that?” He kisses his hair and Pipita notices there are tears in his eyes, “Everyone is. You've got nothing to be worked up about. Everyone here loves you, nothing's going to happen to you.”

“They-”

“They need time. This... this is a huge deal, okay? No one expected this, and they're probably just trying to wrap their heads around it. It will be okay, you just have to wait. In no time they'll be nominating me for those stupid 'prettiest wag' awards and you'll be making all the boys jealous when you talk about our sex life and they'll make up ridiculous stories about us adopting babies from third world countries and the horrible shit your teammates will make you do on your stag.” 

That manages to get a laugh out of Álvaro, his breathing starting to calm, and Pablo kisses his head and goes back to murmuring nonsense in his ear. Iker ushers everyone away from them to give them more space, and most of his teammates comply, but Pipita stays where he is, unable to look away.

Gonzalo's never felt more helpless in his life as he does standing there and watching Pablo coo and kiss Morata's face and promise him things will be okay. He hates himself for it.


	3. Chapter 3

Morata starts then next match, and the match after that. Slowly but surely, the home crowd stops booing whenever he does so much as breathes. 

He gets his first senior national team call up as a result of all the time he's getting, playing the United States and Denmark in friendlies. Gonzalo doesn't get called up for Argentina's fixtures due to a nasty chest cold and neither does Eze due to his knee being messed up, so they decide to pop over to the US to catch the match before heading to Mexico to see Argentina. The Americans give him a fairly loud round of applause when he's subbed on for Torres in the 75th minute and for some reason Pipa feels his chest swell with pride. 

Pablo becomes something of a celebrity, not that it really surprises anyone. The kid's adorable, with his blond hair and green eyes, not to mention his face is made for teenage girl's bedroom walls. Some of the wives and girlfriends take him under their wing to help him deal with the attention, Irina becoming so fond of him that it's not a surprise to see shots of the two of them out and about in Madrid together in the papers. Pablo's prediction turns out to be true too, and soon enough every magazine is wondering about how serious things are if Álvaro is so open about them being a couple since he's so willing to hold his hand and kiss him in public, and especially after they start wearing matching bands on their ring fingers. Alavro explains to the guys that the rings are actually something they bought each other at 17 after being together a year. They could never wear them right way, Álvaro wore Pablo's on his middle finger and Pablo wore Álvaro's on his index finger, and now they've just swapped them back. It makes sense, but it doesn't mean the team don't tease the hell out of him for it.

Despite how things are settling, the jeers never quite go away. People still ask him stupid questions about whether or not it's awkward to be in the locker room with him, and when they don't like the answer that it's not, they make things up. Pipita doesn't know how Álvaro puts up with it.

Playing Atleti at the Vicente Calderón is worst match of the season. Everyone is so angry, the Atleti fans and players are so vicious even before Álvaro gets subbed on. Callejon gets a straight red in the 84th when a player spits a slur at Morata after tackling him and José decks him across the face in retaliation. Rui screams at the ref for doing nothing, grabs him by the front of the jersey and gives him a good shake, and gets himself ejected.

“I wish they wouldn't get so worked up over it,” Álvaro says once their back in the locker room, the game ending in a win even though it doesn't feel like it, “I'm used to it by now.”

“You'd rather we be okay with that?”

“Pipa,” He sighs, sitting down next to him, “It's fine. Well, it's not fine, but it's nothing new. It's not like they liked me all that much anyway, considering my history.”

He turns himself to go back to his locker, the tension in his back and neck obvious. Gonzalo bumps their shoulders. “Are you okay?”

“I'm just... tired. It's exhausting, you know?” Álvaro sags against him, resting his head on his shoulder, “I go out and whether I play or sit on the bench I have to spend 90 minutes pretending I don't hear people singing and chanting that I'm going to die of AIDS or how I must have been fucked up the ass last night because I'm running funny, and then I go home and have to listen about how people give my boyfriend constant shit and the press follow him around when he's on campus or at work and he pretends it doesn't bother him but I know it does. Every interview revolves around my personal life and what it's like being gay and playing for one of the top five clubs in the world, and if I refuse to respond or ask if they can ask about something else I get called a brat or they act like I'm ashamed of my boyfriend. And even though I want it more than anything, when I think of us getting married or having kids I'm terrified about putting my child through that when I can barely stand putting my boyfriend through it.”

“I'm sorry.” Pipita says, wrapping an arm around him and pulling him closer. Álvaro sighs and wraps an arm around him to give him a squeeze in response, “I wish I could do more.”

“It's not your fault Pipa, don't worry.”

Someone clears their throat above them, and Pipita looks up to find Cristiano smirking at them.

“Is there anything you want to share with the class?” Cris asks, cheekily, “because I'm sure Irina will want to know if you're cheating on her new BFF, Álvie.”

Álvaro smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.


	4. Chapter 4

Gonazlo gets pulled for the pre-match presser for the last match of the season. He doesn't really really mind, and actually welcomes the distraction. For some reason he hasn't been able to shake Álvaro's words from the locker room a few weeks ago, and he hopes the mindless questioning he'll have to respond to will help get it out of his head before the game.

It's not until the end of the conference that it gets brought up by the rep for Marca.

“Is it strange to be in the locker room with a Maricón?”

The reporters in the room go quiet. They usually ask about it, but they all seem as surprised as Pipita is about the phrasing the reporter has used.

“What did you call him?” 

He nearly stands up but Aitor puts an hand on his thigh under the table, trying to silently tell him to calm down and shut up. He ignores it. The guy looks at him like he's an idiot. 

“That's what he is.”

“If I were you I'd shut your fucking mouth.” He spits, and the asshole just raises both his eyebrows, attempting to look scandalized but knowing full well that he's struck gold by getting him worked up. 

“What right do you have to tell me what I can't say?”

He doesn't know what it is, if it's the guys bitchy tone or if it's because he writes for a shit paper like Marca that has cause more problems for his team in the last year than he can count or Álvaro's confession of how hard things are for him being alone, his mouth opens and he admits the one thing he's kept quiet his whole life.

“I have every right to tell you that it's bullshit that you spit out a homophobic slur when you're using it not only against my teammate, but me.”

He sticks around just enough to see the reporter's eyes widen and his mouth fall open when he comprehends what he's just admitted before he pushes his chair back loudly and walks off stage. He 's shaking all over and he knows everyone's freaking out behind him but he can't hear anything but the buzzing in his ears. He ignores it all and stomps out and to the bank of elevators that will take him to his hotel room. 

When he's in the elevator he presses his forehead to the cold metal of the doors and lets out a laugh. He can't help it. He's been hiding that for years, and somehow, despite how hard he's worked to keep it out of the press, despite all the times he's pushed men he's cared about away in favor of annoying women he doesn't like, he's the one that outed himself without a second thought.

When the doors open Morata is standing in front of them, his eyes wide and and breathing uneven, like he ran from his room to him. Gonzalo steps forward and just leans against him, his chin on his shoulder and arms around his waist. 

“They we're airing it on TV. Everyone's having a freakout on twitter already.” He says, and Gonzalo just sighs.

“Of course they are.” He presses his face a bit harder against his neck, and Álvaro kisses the side of his head. He almost laughs at how things have reversed from a few months ago. 

“You want to talk?”

“Later?” Gonzalo pulls away, “I should call my parents, and... well, everyone.”

Álvaro nods and lets go of him. “Find me whenever, okay?” And he looks so serious and stern that Pipita can't help but smile at him before side stepping and going to his room, pulling out his phone.

He flicks through his contact list, meaning to call his parents first, but instead he bypasses their names and goes for the one person he really feels he needs to call.

“I'm sorry,” He says, as soon as he picks up, “I'm sorry I made you wait even though you wanted to come out ages ago even though you knew why I was scared and I know that it's fucking stupid that I do it now when we're not even on the same team anymore and can't be together like we should but I am. Sorry, I mean.”

There's silence on the line, and then-

“Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to say that?” Eze's attempting to sound stern, but Pipita can hear the hint of a laugh in his voice, “It's going to take more than sorry to make up for it, you know.”

“I love you.”

“Well,” Eze chuckles, “It's a start.”

“I love you, and I don't care who knows it.” Pipita says. He can almost feel Eze's smile through the phone, and somehow that makes everything alright.


End file.
